


The way you dismiss me will turn into missing me

by rokklagio



Series: After Hours [3]
Category: SKAM (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-22
Updated: 2017-01-22
Packaged: 2018-09-19 07:21:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9425330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rokklagio/pseuds/rokklagio
Summary: Even was tough work and if he had tried hard enough, he would have succeeded. It always worked. He knew Even.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry it took me so long to update; work got in the way. And lack of inspiration too, to be honest. I wrote and deleted everything like a hundred times, then I understood I needed to write a flashback to move forward. I'm sorry if I've messed up some tenses.
> 
> To make amends I've made a [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/rokklagio/playlist/0tPVBWsH56JlwuH2iHZeUf) for this story.

 

 

That morning went surprisingly well.

Isak had waited, with an immeasurable patience, for his clothes to dry. He had waited by the dryer, secretly wishing for the machine to go a bit faster than usual, listening quietly as it rumbled all throughout the flat. He didn’t want to be left alone with his brain. He didn’t want to feel the guilt, the echoes of self-rebuke that were forming in his head repeating what he already knew: that he was a fucking idiot. Even, on the other hand, seemed to have mastered the art of avoiding Isak by doing a million different things at the same time: he began taking calls, writing notes on a raggedy notebook and doing, Isak could only guess, some video editing. He checked on Even from time to time, wondering how the other man was dealing with so much stress on his own. Still, Isak could sense that Even was now purposely avoiding him. Whether he did it not to make things between them get any weirder or not, he didn’t know. He couldn’t have known. Even wasn’t talking to him.

Once he was finally able to wear his dried clothes, he took a deep breath and stepped into the kitchen, to say goodbye before leaving. He found Even by the window, smoking a cigarette as he spoke on the phone, oblivious to the other man’s presence. He thought for a minute to just leave without bothering to tell Even, but he felt something clutch at his stomach. What if this was their last time together. _What if you’re never going to see him again?_ So he took another deep breath and cleared his voice to catch Even’s attention and, when Even turned around, he quickly waved in Isak’s direction and got back to his ministrations.

To say that Isak felt humiliated and angry would have been an understatement, but he tried not to show his disappointment. The only thing that didn’t make him walk to Even’s face and throw that phone out of the window was the fact that, despite everything, Isak knew Even better than anybody else. That wasn’t Even’s way to tell him to get lost: he knew that they were going to see each other anyway. After all, Even always used to re-create some tear-jerking goodbye scene, and Isak would get angry and flustered, but afterwards he would walk home with a secret smile on his lips. Every single time.

It made him feel special, it made _them_ special.

Not knowing what to do, he accepted Even half-assed goodbye and went home.

 

_Are you leaving already?_

_Yeah, I’ve got my flight in three hours._

_Do you really have to go back this early?_

_Just visit me in Copenaghen. You’d make me happy. Are you sad?_

_No! It’s ok. I will miss you._

 

Gunnar was already out when he got back, a note left on the fridge was the only clue Isak got. Their coexistence in the same living space was a curious phenomenon: Isak found out he really couldn’t afford anything in central Oslo when he finally decided he was no longer fit to live with other 5-6 people in a 50sqm flat, so he moved to the outskirts. Then he found out he definitively needed a car to move back and forth and, in the course of one year, he had to become a well-rounded adult with a job (which wasn’t really a job, but being a psychiatry resident definitely felt like one), a house (in the middle of basically nowhere) and a car (his father’s old one). The thing was—Isak found out he liked to be independent, he liked it more than when he was ten years younger and couldn’t even do his own laundry or shop for _healthy_  food. What he didn’t like, though, was to come to an empty home, with a single beer in his fridge and some frozen food to eat alone as he watched some old tv show from his laptop, because he couldn’t afford to buy a tv (and who watched television anyway?).

Living with Gunnar, however, was a complete different deal. They hadn’t been living together for long, as Gunnar had only moved to his flat a couple of months before which, he recalled with some guilt, Isak himself asked him to.

He got out of his recently washed clothes and stepped into the shower. He glanced over the abandoned clothes on the floor through the shower glass door, relieved he didn’t ask Even to lend him his stuff. He wouldn’t have known how to explain to Gunnar the presence of clothes two sizes bigger than what he was used to wear, but the single thought of being happy not to tell a shitty lie to Gunnar made him feel like, well, shit.  


He got out of the shower half an hour later and dried his hair as he walked into his bedroom. He threw the towel carelessly on the bed and, a few inches from it, he could see he got a missed call and a new message. Nervous that it could have been Gunnar—or worse, _Even_ —he ignored his phone and started cleaning after the mess he had made and thought over what clothes to pick. His eyes wandered over the neatly folded shirts elegantly arranged in his drawer, and his mind went back to his first years of university, where he had to pick up his pants from the floor because he couldn’t even bother to leave them on the bed, like he used to do when he was a teenager. His university years have been far messier than his teens: he was lucky he was still alive. He looked back at the parties, as well as the fights and the tears as he put on and buttoned a pale-blue shirt that matched with his bag but… he peeked at his shoes, and took the shirt off. It didn’t match. It had to match.

He folded it back in the drawer and picked a new one, which was still wrapped up in its plastic. This one matched with the bag and his shoes, but he remembered the sleeves were slightly shorter than what he considered comfortable. _He wanted to take it back to the shop, that’s why it was still wrapped_. He searched through his clothes, but nothing seemed to be the right fit: one was too light, one was too long, and the one sitting next to it wasn’t serious enough. He looked at the time. It was getting late.

He collapsed on the bed, suffocating sobs in his hands.

 

It happened one month after his 25th birthday, three days after his graduation. Isak was sitting beside the emergency exit of some building, celebrating nothing in particular with people he didn’t know, right outside somebody else’s apartment. He was sitting on the stairs, disastrously rolling a spliff after his tenth, eleventh beer. He wished he could handle stronger alcohol without throwing up afterwards. It would have been cheaper and quicker to get wasted, but his stomach turned out to be a strong opponent in that regard. He looked up from his work to lick along the soft skin and spotted a loving couple kissing just three stairs from where he was, looking miserable with a crooked spliff hanging between his fingers.

“Ugh,” he moaned, probably in a theatrical manner—he wasn’t sure. The couple stopped kissing to look briefly in Isak’s direction. They probably felt sorry for him and got back to what they were doing.

 _Jerks. Find a room somewhere for fuck’s sake._ He lighted up the spliff and took a long drag. He could feel the loud music reverberate under the soles of his shoes. He closed his eyes. He hadn’t sleep for days. Partly because he had to work on his final thesis, partly because he didn’t know what a sleep schedule was. And even when he finally graduated from medical school, he just couldn’t sleep in his bed. So he went to a different party every night, slipping through the crowd even when he didn’t know anyone.

“Yo Valtersen.”

He turned around. Some guys walked down the stairs and waved at him. He recognised them: some tools from his Anatomy class.

He raised his hand to them and silently thanked God as they continued walking, with no desire to chat. It was some party in west Oslo, and there were almost exclusively people from either Medical or Law school hanging around. The white, fine shirts the boys were wearing and the designer shoes the girls were showing a clear sign of that. Isak had always both loathed and admired that kind of environment, feeling out of space and extraordinarily at ease at the same time.

“Hey Isak.”

He was expecting to find some prick like Gustav or Lars from Microbiology because that was the kind of situation where he would find people of that sort. Instead, he saw Mahdi coming down the stairs. He put an effort to blend with the environment by wearing a white shirt too, but the baggy pants he was sporting indicated he didn’t care enough to fit in. He sat down and put his beer on the floor between his legs, and offered his joint to Isak, who gestured to his spliff to indicate that he was already settled. Mahdi simply raised his eyebrows and grinned.

“How you doing?” he asked, poorly stifling a yawn. “Fuck, I’ve slept for three days since the graduation ceremony.”

“Really?” Isak asked, more to keep the conversation going than out of real interest.

“Yeah. My family has completely stressed me out. Thank god they’re back home now.” Isak nodded absent-mindedly, thinking of his own graduation. His mother couldn’t come. His father came with his new girlfriend and stayed barely an hour around. Jonas was in New Zealand. The only person he wanted to see didn’t bother to answer to any of his messages, e-mails or calls. He knew they weren’t together anymore—not officially. He shouldn’t have bothered, but he did, because Even was tough work and if he had tried hard enough, he would have succeeded. It always worked. He knew Even.

“When are you starting your internship?” Mahdi asked.

“In August.”

“I’ve got mine in two weeks. Why are you out here alone anyway?” Mahdi was one of the few people Isak still hung out with from high school, as he basically attended the same courses as him.

“I just needed time to think. And I think I’m going to throw up, so I prefer to do it where I know I won’t mess up some fine tapestry,” Isak explained.

Mahdi grinned. “How kind of you.”

Isak smiled. They smoked in silence for some time.

“Uhm,” Mahdi began, clearly not knowing how to introduce the topic, but somehow Isak already knew what he was going to say. “There’s Even inside. Have you guys already seen each other?”

He instinctively closed his eyes. He could feel his heart speed up.

“Yeah?” he asked, his voice trembling.

“Ok, what’s the deal between you two?” Mahdi kind of snapped, but he did so without losing his subtle smile on his lips. “Because I’m starting to think he always shows up to our parties just to see you. He said he’s working on a full-length film in… Amsterdam? Rotterdam? I’ve got no idea where. And now he’s here.”

Isak nodded. “Did he say how long he’s gonna stay?”

Mahdi furrowed his brows. “Man, just go and ask him. I’ve just heard some stuff and told you.”

“Was he with somebody else?”

Mahdi rolled his eyes. “He’s come with some girl.” He focused his eyes on Isak, whose face fell at the mention of other people. “Dude! Are you kidding me? She’s probably a friend.”

“Yeah but, how do you know?

Dark eyes were staring at him with absolute bewilderment. “How can she possibly be something else?”

“Because he likes girls too!” Isak snapped, not realizing how loud he was being. Years of insecurity and doubts came all down on him, because Isak couldn’t just wrap his head around Even’s bisexuality. He had always said he was fine with it, because he loved Even as he was. _He was a good fucking person_. “So how do you know he’s not fucking her?!”

Mahdi was watching him, mouth gaping. “Ok, you’re probably stressed,” he concluded as he stood up, “I’m gonna go.”

Isak’s head started to hurt and he could feel himself getting crummy. “Sorry. Yeah,” he muffled an apology. Then he pointed to Mahdi’s beer on the floor. “Are you going to finish that?”

Mahdi just shook his head and started walking away. Isak grabbed the beer and chugged it all down. He threw the bottle away and walked inside. There were way more people then when he first arrived—or at least it seemed so. He moved through the crowd with an unusual confidence he realised the alcohol instilled in him, making him slide across the room instead of walking. The place was dark, faintly illuminated by the streetlights outside and some coloured lamps standing in the doorway.

That’s where he spotted Even.

He had his back turned and was chatting with a girl. Isak took only a glimpse of her long ginger hair before Even’s eyes found his face, turning around as if he had sensed Isak’s presence in the room. His mind was empty, the echo of a single thought made his way to his brain, and it always did when Isak saw Even: _he’s beautiful_. He was. He had always been, with his bright smile, his beautifully dishevelled hair made of gold and kind eyes. Whenever Even looked at someone he seemed to give everyone some kind of divine absolution. And there he was, once again, locking eyes with the angelic boy that kept messing up with his head years later. His hair was longer and he kept most of it tied up in a small bun, letting some loose locks fall down on his black Wu-Tang Clan hoodie. Dressed like that, he was still able to fit right in even in that sort of crowd.

He wasn’t sure how fast he walked, but one instant later he was looking up to Even and looking down on the ginger girl, who just stared back in confusion. The corners of Even’s mouth stretched his pink lips in an excited smile, and that exact smile made Isak break down. He stumbled, he demanded what was she doing here. Even just looked at him with wide eyes, but Isak didn’t stop. He knew he was screaming at some point, and he knew he was drunk but not _that_ drunk, he was being perfectly reasonable as he insulted both Even and his girlfriend, _it’s her you’ve left me for? Is it her?_ But Even is trying to grab his arms, he’s trying to stop him, and the girl’s face is morphing into a face of disgust and Isak just couldn’t handle it. _How dare you?_ The girl launched forward and shoved him backwards. Isak looked around as he tried to stand still and noticed hundreds of people staring at him, frozen. After a couple of seconds they started to move as the room began to spin faster, and faster, and faster, and faster.

He felt Even’s fingers sink in his arm, then suddenly a jerk. He fluctuated through bewildered people with abandoned drinks in their hands and then it wasn’t dark anymore. The blinding light of the bathroom shone right in Isak’s eyes, Even’s voice the only reference point he had.

“What the hell, Isak? Are you okay?” the other boy asked in a tone that wanted to be angry, but it came out worried and upset. Why did he care? Why did he care now? Why was he watching him with concern in his beautiful round eyes if he was so damn boring for his interesting life? Why did he leave?

_Why can’t you leave me alone?_

Isak was reduced to a stream of incoherent words and, even though he could feel his salivation increase, he had to get it all out. It wasn’t fair. He had lost control of his life and Even didn’t care; he was staring at Isak in complete silence.   
He looked sad.   
  
That was the last time Isak saw Even. He wasn’t sure whether the other boy told him goodbye that time: Isak fell on his knees and emptied his stomach on the floor tiles.


End file.
